


Tom on Tumblr

by Sulk



Category: British actor - Fandom, Eddie Redmayne - Fandom, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Eddie Redmayne - Freeform, Eventual sex!, F/M, Masturbation, Mild emotional manipulation, Multi, OFC - Freeform, Oral Sex, Sex, Spanking, Teasing, Thomas Oakley - Freeform, fanfic writing, fmm, tags will move with the story, tom hiddleston - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 10:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4134411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulk/pseuds/Sulk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some feels, some fluff, some puttanesca. And, eventually, sex.</p><p>Tom, Eddie and Jean share a marvelously close relationship. One, or maybe more, of the trifecta wants to change their relationship. Irrevocably so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies - the first chapter is rather smut-free. I know, it's disgusting!

“What the….?” Tom turned from his tablet to frown at her as she walked through the seating area. 

“You received thirty-seven likes, three reblogs and some really saucy comments in the last twenty-four hours of thfrustration posting our stories, and I received nada, zip and sodding zilch. Why?!”

Making reassuring noises at her pouting flatmate, Jean moved in to lean over the back of the sofa. “Let me take a look at the story you posted.” His big hands started to draw the tablet to his chest; she calmed her face to smile kindly. “Please, Tom. It can’t hurt.”

“Urrggh. Okay,” His shoulders slumped as he pushed the tablet into her waiting hands.

She read as she walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge to filch some of the food Tom had made earlier. Dish of spag-puttanesca in one hand, tablet in the other, she closed the fridge door with a knee, then repeatedly bumped her forehead against the door surface. Whispering an agonised, “Oh, Tom!”

Three days earlier, the thrill of being back in London for a six week break from all work commitments had Tom feeling almost giddy. 

Jean was sat in the kitchen, sipping coffee, and reading through notes on preparation for her next exhibition. Hearing the front door slam, she knew her sometimes flatmate was home. No one else bothered to announce themselves in so loud a way. And she knew her life for the duration of his stay would be exhilarating, fantastic fun, and completely detrimental to her professional life. 

Hearing her name being yelled at full volume, she rolled her eyes. ‘Bloody luvies,’ she smirked to herself, and rose to greet her flatmate.

“Jean!” The hug that followed the exclamation of her name almost winded her. 

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed being home!” The hug continued; Jean being drawn between those lanky legs that needed to part as he leant down from his great height. She patted his back, hoping he’d take the hint and let her breathe. When the boa constrictor around her did not relax she hissed in his ear, “Need to breath!”

The vice-like hold was released instantly, and several grinned apologies followed. Jean returned his grin then ruffled the golden curls of the giddy man-child in her arms. 

“Tom! How long are you home for this time? Is Eddie coming over tonight? It’s been two months since we all last gave the neighbours something to complain about. Sod cooking, let’s order junk food for delivery – there’s plenty of wine and beer in the fridge…. And…” Jean took a deep breath, “It’s really good to see you home, mate!”

Counting his responses off on his fingers behind her back, Tom replied, “Six weeks; you bet, I texted him earlier; the neighbours will be ignoring us in the hallways for weeks to come; great idea, I’m starved; good to see you planning ahead; and I missed you too, kitten.”

Jean gave the lanky man another swift hug, then practically ran to her desk to sort through the take away menus in one of the drawers. Settling on the Szechwan Palace, she started making pencil scribbles beside all the foods she knew she and her two closest friends loved. One swift phone call later, the food was sorted, due to be delivered in an hour.

Tom strolled back in to the living area clad only in a towel wrapped around his waist, dripping water over the floor boards that had run down his shoulders from his still wet hair.

“Hope you’re going to clean that up,” Jean commented to the man recently far too used to living in hotel rooms. 

“Open a window. It’s July, hot out, it’ll soon evaporate,” replied the man whom she was beginning to remember could sometimes be a royal pain in the arse to live with.

Jean looked up from her notes, “When’s Eddie coming over? I still have a bit of reading to finish that’ll ensure my inner control freak’s happiness. This one is making me nervous.”

“Sure, the threat of yet another exhibition is making you nervous. It wouldn’t be the imminent presence of Eddie that’s causing you to be….” He raised an eyebrow, “On edge, hmmm?”

“Nope,” she popped the ‘p’, and then took up a pen to jot corrections on her notes.

“Come on, give the guy a chance. Or at least stop scaring him off!” His tone was rather exasperated.

Jean did not bother to look up, “Told you before, gonna tell you again; I’d eat him alive. If he can’t handle me in conversation, do you really think he could handle me in bed?” 

“Well you did artfully avoid his last attempt at romance by turning the topic of conversation to female genital mutilation. Yes, I know you’ve strong feelings on the subject, but you quite literally slammed a door in the man’s face, and yet he is as keen as ever. That has to tell you something, Jean.”

She still did not look up. “It tells me you want to see Eddie and I happen.” 

“What’s not to like? He’s funny, tells the filthiest jokes, is a fit and good looking chap, avoids picking his nose in mixed company…"

“Wow”, she interrupted, “That is one good man, don’t let me stand in your way, you are obviously enamoured!” 

Tom huffed and smacked his palms on his thighs, “And you are impossible!” 

Rising and skipping innocently from her desk to the exasperated man, Jean paused to give him a quick peck on the cheek as she headed to the bathroom. “Any hot water left?”

 

Whilst trying to rinse shampoo from her hair as quickly as possible under increasingly tepid water (bloody luvies, too used to hotels with bloody limitless hot water!), Jean considered ‘The Eddie Situation’. 

Eddie was indeed great fun to be around, and he was an evil sweetie, but he had an edge to him that was maybe too compliant, too…. He lacked that spark of dominance that would fire her attraction to him. Ok, he could give rise to his filthy, raucous side, but only after a drink or two. 

Jean’s last couple of attachments had been with women. Submissive women. They had allowed her to take care of them, give them what they needed, allowed her to read them and exercise her dominant sensibilities. Those affairs had not given rise to deep emotion attachment, but they had been emotionally satisfying for all involved. 

Jean smacked a wet hand against her forehead, ‘Of course!’ 

Men, in her limited experience, treated emotions as something only to be offered in ‘show and tell’ sessions. And she was not ready to be responsible for the male emotional state in a relationship with a friend; a friend whose company of late had become a little awkward, but that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Tom was quite right, Eddie was blue-chip partner material, but the hints at his submissive side she had clearly read in their interactions made her too wary to do anything other than sidle away from his attempts to attract her attention as a sexual partner.

Chilled, shivering and cursing her flatmate, Jean towelled off, slipped on knickers and a mottled blue-grey silk maxi dress. The sleeveless dress flowed to the floor, the material light yet thankfully warming. 

Exiting the bathroom barefoot, knowing Eddie and their junk food feast were both due to arrive imminently, she did as she always did with unresolved feelings; shoved them into a box inside her head labelled Unresolved Feelings, and firmly shut the lid.

She sat alone cross-legged on one of the two sofas in the living area, feeling at a loose end. She had no need to review her exhibition notes. In truth, all was running smoothly, she had only one or two little niggles to set straight, and they could be easily seen to in the coming days.

Jean was a sculptor. She had worked using many different types of materials in the past, but had found her forte in wood. Contacts with tree surgeons ensured her supply of various types of wood from dead or dying tree carcasses. 

Her much lauded talent was said to be forcing new life and expression into something that once lived and breathed as a natural creation. Even Brian Sewell, whilst not openly reviewing her work, had given a statement that suggested he found her work not unpleasing. 

“Ms Voigt lacks the over obvious so prevalent today. I enjoy the allowance to experience a piece on my own terms, rather than being instructed on how I might do so by the white card that sits on the wall behind the sculpture.”

Brian was right about the usual piece of blurb that sat next to each and every piece in modern art exhibits/museums. A work of art ought to be defined by the viewer; they should find it strong enough to entertain them, move them, no explanation required. The accompanying white cards to Jean’s work gave the piece’s name, date of creation and nothing more.

Jean’s thoughts drifted again. Tom was turning into Eddie’s annoying little white card. She envisioned Eddie on a pedestal, and smiled. Purely as an exercise in curiosity she decided to allow herself to look, and see him without Tom’s hard sell tactics. She might see something she had previously overlooked, in both herself and him.

Ignoring the fact any relationship that failed would destroy, not one, but two friendships – and that fact lurked like a storm cloud above her head – Jean was resolved to examine what a relationship with Eddie might otherwise entail.

As a switch, she had always believed she had clear definitions of her preferences. Her sexual relationships with men tended toward dominant men. She knew where she stood with them. Or crouched, knelt, was thrown down and willing thoroughly fucked stupid. She was still very much inside her own head when an unexpected voice growled in her ear, “Penny for your thoughts.” 

Shrieking in shock, Jean started and fell off the sofa, landing painfully on her knees. Realising who had startled her; she turned, grasped one of the smaller sofa cushions and launched it at Tom’s head. 

“Don’t do that! You frightened the heck out of me!”

Tom smiled, allowed the cushion to harmlessly bounce off his face; and then stifled a yawn. “Had a nap, woke up, and now I need food. Where is the food, woman?”

Jean stood to give her pet caveman a few words of advice, but was caught by his interest centred on her chest. 

“Look at those,” he crowed in boyish delight. His hand rose to touch, and was slapped away. “Those are very aroused nipples. What were you thinking about? Was it me?”

“Fuck off, you entitled posh boy.”

Eye contact caused them to dissolve into giggles that only stopped when the door bell rang. 

Jean ran for the door calling over her shoulder, “Food or Eds, which do you want more?”

“Food!” 

She wrenched open the door. And there stood Eddie, looking almost as delicious as anything she had ordered. Jean looked into the living area, and yelled, “I win!”

 

The three were loafing on the sofa, glasses or wine or beer set before them, the remains of their meal littering the table, as they watched a shared favourite game show. Jean had saved a few episodes to hard drive. She waited to watch Pointless with them both. Watching alone was not the same.

The aim of the show was to answer the questions with the least known piece of knowledge. 

All three friends scored lowest (as was the aim, to be pointless) in rounds that included music, film, literature, history and politics. But Tom had an annoying habit of excelling at obscure subjects such as the names of African presidents, or anagrams of the original banoffee pie recipe ingredients. He was a hard man to beat. Tonight was no different. Jean had been disgusted to be knocked out in the second round when Dusty Springfield scored her 43 points.

“NO! No way could she score higher than Otis-flipping-Reading!”

Eddie took Jean’s hand, lacing his fingers through hers. “Ahh, poppet. It’s just a game…. In which the superior intellect wins!” Any hint of superior expression was wiped off his face, and Tom’s too, when they were both trounced in the final round by a pair of primary school teachers. 

Eddie slapped a deflated Tom on the back, “It is what it is, mate. And now for this evening’s entertainment! I know Jean doesn’t really enjoy weeks of your killjoy neighbour’s sour looks, so what I have in mind is completely neighbour friendly.” He sat back and smiled.

“Okay, offer up, stop teasing us.” Jean laughed.

“Fan fiction,” came the calm reply.

The man on Jean’s other side tensed. “Not happening. I’ve been told about that stuff, and it’s insane. We are NOT reading any of that stuff!”

Eddie turned to Tom with a smile that reeked of feigned innocence, “We won’t be reading it, my friend, we’ll be writing the insane stuff. Each of us will write for one hour. You,” he pointed to Tom, “will be billeted in the kitchen, me in here on the desk top, Jean you get your bedroom.”

“Lucky me,” Jean muttered.

“One hour to write shamelessly filthy smut in the Tommy fandom of your choice. Then post it to that thfrustration blog on tumblr – I’ve texted you both the details. Failure to do so will result in the usual forfeit.” 

Jean opened Eddie’s text on the way to her bedroom, and quickly had the blog open on her tablet. There was no way she was streaking naked through the corridors of their floor. Again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CAUTION: Please note this fic's rating has been changed to EXPLICIT.
> 
> A confusing night, followed by a morning of fantasies, truth and relaxation.

Jean finished and submitted her story to the thfrustration blog with a few minutes to spare on the hour limit. Tablet in hand, she wandered back through the living area to the kitchen, to see how Tom was faring. She could hear his groans of impatience before entering the room.

“Just kill everyone off! Have them jump over a cliff, consumed with shame or guilt, or something, because you are running out of time.” She advised.

“How did…,” he shook himself from the distraction. “I need another ten minutes. That’s all. Buy me another ten minutes, please!”

Jean left the kitchen to see Eddie looking a bit smug, sitting on the nearest sofa. She sat beside him, winked, and said, “Hey. What made you come up with this particular torment for Tom?”

Grinning as if he was one radioactive explosion away from being a super-powered evil genius, Eddie leaned in and whispered, “Remember the last time Tom was in charge of our entertainment?”

Jean winced. Neither she, nor the waiting staff of the Jolly Pirate, would or could ever forget that night. Personally, she never wanted to see another croquembouche ever again. She was still re-living the horror, when Eddie nudged her shoulder. 

“Huh? Sorry, miles away,” she apologised, and prompted him to repeat whatever he had said.

“I asked why you’ve been so elusive and avoiding me lately,” he repeated.

“No, not avoiding… Just, you know, busy,” she mumbled, paying close attention to the pattern on the rug, knowing her checks were starting to flare in giveaway red tones.

Eddie smiled at her until she could do nothing other than meet his eyes. ‘Grief, he’s making me self-conscious,’ she thought.

“Jean, you really have been avoiding me since-” he was cut off by a yell of, “Finished!” from the kitchen.

Tom trotted back into the living area and flopped down on the other side of Eddie.

“Excellent. I’ll need your screen names so I know your stories were submitted. I will be checking!” Jean pushed her tablet towards Eddie, to show him, Tom did the same.

“You are an evil, evil git,” Tom growled, then sat a bit straighter. “Next time, I am choosing the 'entertainment.’ And don’t think I’ll be forgetting this any time soon!”

“As long as I don’t become collateral damage in your vengeance, venge away!” Jean shot back. 

She lay back on the sofa, closed her eyes, and listened to the silly bickering between her friends. After a few exchanges, Eddie declared his need for an early start the next morning, and she heard him phone for a taxi.

Five minutes later, at the door, Tom and Eddie exchanged man hugs that involved thumping each others backs in an extremely manly fashion.

Eddie grasped Jean’s bare shoulders to draw her in for a tight warm hug.

“Don’t let the Neanderthal leave all the clearing up for you, poppet,” he stage whispered.

She drew back to smile up at him. “Good nigh-” her words were cut short by his mouth meeting hers. The initial soft, almost chaste kiss progressed into something she needed, wanted and wholly reciprocated. When he whispered, “Good night, poppet,” he left her dazed and tingling. 

 

“Earth to Jean! ...Eddie has left the building!”

Jean came down to earth, registering the closed front door, and the grinning idiot gloating beside her. 

“Ohh, your nipples are doing interesting things again… OW!” Tom yelped, shaking the sting from his smacked fingers.

“We shouldn’t touch what isn’t ours without permission,” Jean scolded as she turned to walk away.

“Alright. May I..”

“Yes.”

Tom’s head shot up for a moment before he lost his grin. “You don’t mean that, do you.”

“No.”

 

The next half hour was shared in clearing away glasses, plates and take away food cartons, and loading the dishwasher. Jean felt tired but happy. She looked over at Tom, ready to wish him a good night, and then stopped. His whole frame looked about to drop, yet his eyes, even thought they were shadowed, were restless.

Jean reached up to stroke his forehead, “How are you holding up? You look worn through.”

“Thanks for the flattery, kitten,” he huffed, then rubbed a hand over his chin.  
“Urghh, I’m shattered but my mind won’t stop. Will you give me what I need?” 

The request was reinforced by the worst case of puppy-dog eyes she’d ever seen from the man. Which was saying something indeed.

“Need a fix?” she asked with concern.

“God, yes!” 

Jean smiled, and nodded toward his room, “Go. Yell when you’re ready.”

The man was an ASMR junkie. 

About a year ago, Tom had been reading an article on the BBC online news magazine pages, and he had shouted for Jean to take a look at something called ASMR.

The article detailed ASMR (autonomous sensory meridian response) as a perceptual phenomenon characterised as a distinct pleasurable tingling sensation in the head or extremities, and a sense of deep relaxation in response to tactile or auditory stimuli. 

It also gave a safe and sciency abbreviation to the comfort derived when Jean stroked her over-stressed flatmate’s hair and whispered calming words as he drifted off into much needed sleep.

Tom trudged off to his room. Less than five minutes later, during which time Jean had wiped down the table and washed her hands, he called for her through his open bedroom door. “Ready.”

Jean padded into his room. Tom was lying in bed on his stomach, face to one side, eyes closed, hands resting either side of his head on the pillows. She sat down beside him, then gently rolled back the covers to reveal his bare shoulders. With a light touch, she ran her fingertips over his shoulders, down his upper arms, and back again. She murmured soft nothings, and let his sighs of relaxation guide her touch over his warm skin.

After five minutes or so, her fingers ran up the back of his neck and into his hair. She lightly stroked over Tom’s scalp. His small noises of approval were almost indecent.

When his breathing eventually became slower and deeper, Jean knew he was well on his way to restful sleep. With one last stroke, she petted his ruffled hair. Then she kissed the first and second fingertips on her left hand, and pressed them softly between his shoulder blades. Jean switched off the bedside lamp, and quietly closed the door behind her.

‘Must increase size of Unresolved Feelings box’, was her last thought as she drifted off to sleep.

The alluring scent of freshly brewed coffee had Tom awake, pulling on his dressing gown, and staggering into the kitchen earlier than even he expected on a work-free day.

Hearing his lumbering approach, Jean poured him a mug of coffee, then pushed the mug and milk jug in his direction as he seated himself at the kitchen table. One ridiculously wide yawn later, he muttered his thanks, blended coffee with milk, and supped in silence for a few minutes.

“Thanks for caring last night,” he smiled his thanks.

“Not a chore,” she replied and winked at him.

Taking a deep breath, Jean launched into the topic that had been on her mind and in her dreams all night.

“Tom, I’d like to discuss The Eddie Situation.”

“The Eddie Situation? It has a title with capital letters? I’m intrigued!” Tom nodded and gestured for her to continue.

“I don’t have a great deal of experience with men, and I only have your word that his…. Want for some attachment with me is sincere.”

To stop Tom’s indignant waving of hands and spluttering, Jean continued, “I trust you, but I am unsure of myself in a relationship with a submissive man. I wouldn’t know what the hell I was doing, or what was expected. And his actions late last night confused the hell out of me.”

“Submissive?! You think Eddie is a sub? That he’d be your sub? Ehehehehe!” Tom wiped a hand over his chin, still grinning like an idiot, showing so many teeth, that at that moment Jean wanted to knock out. “Have you spent any recent time alone with the man? Talked with him? ”

“No, it was awkward, and… No, I waited until you returned,” came the reply that sounded lame even to Jean’s ears.

“You know, I think you and Eds have been approaching each other at cross-purposes, each trying to convey something the other has miss-read.”

“What?! What is that supposed to mean?”

“Did his kiss of last night feel like it came from a submissive man?” Tom enunciated slowly in the tone he usually reserved for the hard of understanding. 

Jean smiled weakly and shrugged, at a complete loss for words regards that kiss.

“Oh, for goodness sake, he knows you’re a switch, but he also knows Celia, the last woman you had in your bed, and I’ll bet she told him you’re a dominant lover. He wants you, and is willing to start a relationship with you in practically any way possible. Though he hopes you’ll switch with him. Is that enough information?”

Jean stared, agog, “So he though I might prefer him to be…”

“Yes!”

“And I was stressing because I wanted him to be more…”

“Yes!”

“Oh, grief, you git! Why didn’t you tell me this before now?” Jean demanded.

“Because it was fun to watch Eds play Beatrice, and you be a complete Benedict?”

Jean’s threatening glare had Tom raising his hands in supplication. “I really thought you’d have figured it out for yourselves before I returned from Toronto!”

Tom prodded the back of Jean’s hand that still held her cooling coffee mug with a fingertip to gain her attention; she had been staring off into space for a minute or two.

“Well, kitten, what are you going to do now you’ve been enlightened?” he asked.

Jean drew in a huge breath, “Okay Don Pedro, you’re going to text Eds, invite him over on his next free night, and I am going to relax before heading to the gallery.”

“Relax, huh?” Tom knew her euphemism for ‘masturbate to clear my head.’ His eyebrows made some indecent moves. “Can I watch?”

Jean ignored Tom, and exited the kitchen laughing. 

His plaintive voice followed her, “Ahhhh, come on! Be a friend, it’s been months since I –“ 

Jean closed her bedroom door, cutting off Tom’s daft pleas. 

“Okay,” Tom loudly declared as he walked past her bedroom door. “I’m going to my room. And we all know these walls are paper thin. If I enjoy anything I might hear, it’s not entirely my fault!”

Of course Jean heard him, and could not help smiling and remembering Shouty Julia. 

Tom had dated Shouty Julia for a very short time about a year ago. 

There had been tree nights of constant screaming. 

“YES! YES! YES! Do that again! HARDER! FUCK, FUCK, AWWWW, FUCK! DO IT HARDER! OH, GOD, MORE! YEEEEEESSSSSS!! FUCK YESSSSSS!... AGAIN!!! AGAIN!!!! .. More, MORE!!!!!.. OhhhhhHHHH! YEEEEEESSSSS!!!”

Three nights of that ruckus had a sleep deprived Jean on the war path. On the fourth night she waited until the room next to hers was silent, them started jumping on her bed, loudly crying, “YES, OH YES! TOM, make me see stars! Come on, FUCK ME! OH, YES! YES! YES!”

The next morning, Tom was alone in the kitchen. As Jean entered, his face was pinched, his lips tight. She felt guilty. Tom sighed, and said, “I suppose I should thank you, and I don’t think I need explain why, but should you ever pull that kind of stunt again, you’ll be across my lap, being spanked until you’re unable to sit comfortably for days to come!”

“I, I’m sorry, Tom. But she was… None of my business! I’m….. Going back to my room to… I just wanted to apologise for my actions,” Jean had stuttered, unnerved and turned on in equal measures. 

She had swiftly retired to her bedroom, shed her dressing gown, made herself comfortable, lying with her face buried in the brushed cotton sheets, their softness stifling her cries. 

With her knickers pulled down just far enough for them to teasingly catch on her upper thighs – as if they had been placed to accommodate a bare bottom spanking, she rode her fingers to a blindingly fantastic orgasm. 

 

Leaving the past, lying back on the covers of her bed, knowing every moan, every exclamation could be heard; Jean closed her eyes, allowing mind and fingers to wander.

Thanks to the usual forfeit, Jean had witnessed both her friends romping naked around the corridors within the building, and knew exactly how to envision what she wanted for her own pleasure.

Inside her head she sat astride Tom’s lap, him seated on a kitchen chair, and laid open-mouthed kisses along his jaw as she rode his cock with slow, even rolls of her hips…. The scene changed; Eddie’s face was buried between her spread thighs, his hair held in the tight grasp of her hands, her hips grinding her sex against his beautiful mouth… Then Tom was knelt above her, gloriously naked, fabulously erect, and demanding she, ‘Open wide!’ 

Complying, and “Oh God,” reveling in sucking him down into the depths of her mouth.. “So close – Eds, oooooh!” The though of Eddie’s broad blunt cock head aligned to her eager cunt, pressing forward to gain entry into her body was all that was needed for Jean to fall into a spasming, crying mess of pleasure.

Breathing though the after shocks, breath hitching, she heard the text alert sound from her mobile phone. Reaching for the device with her non-sticky hand, she opened the message and used a very bad word.

It read; “I’d give that an 8/10. x T”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the naughtiness!  
> Warning for spanking.

Tom on Tumblr – Chapter 3

 

Jean stared open mouthed at the text message on the screen of her phone. 

“I’d give that an 8/10. x T”

Deciding vengeance would be hers, she stood up on her bedcovers and started bouncing at a pace that sped up as she became more enthusiastic with her screams.

“Ohhhh YES! Fucking HELL, YES!!!! Please, PLEASE, OHHHH, Tom, spank me, YEAH!!! OH YESSSSS! …. Oh, yessssss… Gods, I WANT IT ALL!!", with one last giggled shout of, “Fuck YEAH!” Jean leapt to the floor and scampered to the shower.

She was showered, dressed and half-way down the road, headed for a nearby taxi rank, when her mobile text alert pinged again.

“I’m quite sure I warned you about screaming fake orgasms – see you later. x T”

Stopping in her tracks, Jean used that very bad word for the second time in twenty minutes.

“Fucker!”

When her flatmate was not in residence she hardly ever swore. He was definitely a bad influence!

Her meeting with the gallery Curator and her assistant went well, and all Jean’s queries were dealt with successfully. As long as Jean did not think about returning home, she was able to act with complete and utter professionalism.

By two-thirty, having lingered at the gallery to further discuss other trivial matters with Mohammed the Curator’s Assistant, Jean felt she had pulled the visit out as long as she could, and took her leave. Mo bid her an almost grateful farewell.

Deciding that a picnic tea would relax her – and delay her return home – Jean bought a sandwich and bottle of mineral water from The Sandwich Shop on Gloucester Road, and walked the short distance to Kensington Garden’s Round Pond where she sat, people watched and ate. Shortly before four o’clock she knew she was being a coward. Plus, if she sat out in the sun any longer she would be sunburnt.

Not in the mood for a taxi driver’s opinion on the upcoming General Election, or anything else for that matter, nor an overcrowded bus ride, Jean walked back to her flat. It was only twenty minutes by foot, but the text she received soon after she set out made it feel so much shorter.

“E and I have talked. Come home, kitten. x T”

Then two minutes later another text arrived.

“We know you are stalling!”

She texted back, “We?”

Then received, “Just get your arse home!”

All was quiet as Jean entered her flat. Then Tom’s voice rang out, “Where have you been? We were starting to seriously worry!”

“Sorry, we?” Jean asked as she walked into the living area to see Tom sat at her desk. He nudged her PC mouse, and the monitor leapt to life. On screen was Eddie on a SKYPE connection. An unsmiling Eddie.

Tom stood, took her bag, motioned for her to sit, and walked away muttering about her being irresponsible and sunburnt. She settled and smiled at Eddie.

“Hello, you! What’s the plot?”

“Tom’s right, you do look a little sunburnt. Why would you risk damaging yourself like that?” He looked less than happy.

“Um, well why not blame the guy who sent me an unnerving text message this morning?” she asked, more than a little ticked off herself.

Eddie sighed, “You needed to be warned –“

“Warned?! What does that mean?”

Her moment of indignation was cut short by Tom handing her a glass of water. 

“Sip it slowly, but make sure to drink it all,” he advised.

Eddie allowed her to take a few sips of water before responding. “Poppet, you made some very wrong judgements about me, and you cruelly teased our friend. There are consequences for such actions.”

Tom, whom she had not even seen leave the room, came back at that moment.

“Let me see to her sunburn first?” he asked mildly. At Eddie’s nod, Tom unstoppered a bottle of green gel, squirted an amount on his fingers and told Jean to turn back to the screen.

“Sorry, sweetie, this will be cold but we’ll have you feeling better in no time.”

His clean hand swept up the tendrils of her hair that had fallen over the nap of her neck, and gently pushed her head forward. A brief slick rubbing sound indicated the gel was being shared between his hands. He lightly applied then to the heated skin in small circular motions. Yes, it was cold but felt marvellous. She placed the scent of the balm; aloe. Slick but not sticky, and quickly being absorbed by her pinked skin.

When Tom’s hand ran round her neck to her throat, Jean was sufficiently relaxed to tilt her head back and rest it against his stomach. Slick fingers ran up her neck then over the highlights of her face, heading south again when that job was complete.

His touch was amazing, soothing and becoming quite intimate as the flat of his hands slid down over her sternum and the slight expanse of her upper chest. The top two buttons of her blouse had been casually left open. She felt the third and fourth buttons being undone, and then those wonderful fingers slid down and under the lace of her bra. 

Her mouth fell open for a loud moan to escape as his index and middle fingers clasped either side of her erect nipples. His hands pulled up and away, and he tightened the pinch on her sensitive nipples. The resulting pulling sensation had Jean arch and buck forward in her seat.

Tom’s touch departed. Jean felt an odd disconnection from her environment, but was still very much inside her own body. Something fell over her eyes and tightened around her head. Her hands flew up to touch, to investigate. It was her sleep mask. 

‘What the hell?’ she thought, opening her mouth to ask the same aloud. But her question was interrupted by Tom’s hands as they closed around her wrists and gently but firmly guided her hands back down to rest on her thighs.

“Listen,” he whispered into her ear.

“Poppet, you are being such a good girl, though your past actions do require some correction.” Eddie’s voice was sweetly cajoling yet left her with no doubt her ‘correction’ was non-negotiable. Not really knowing what to say, Jean nodded.

“Good. As much as I want to be with you, I can’t. Tom and I have discussed what you need in extensive detail. His hands are to be my hands; his touch is my touch; when you react, you react and respond to me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Eddie,” Jean felt humiliated that her voice was little more than a breathy pant.

“You are doing really well. Remember, address me only. Whenever you are touched it is my touch. Whenever you cry, your cries belong to me. Whenever you plead, only I will answer.”

The heat building inside her body, the tension in every muscle had robbed Jean of her voice. She could only nod.

“Oh, my poppet, stand and undress for me. I want to see your skin.”

She stood a little unsteadily and started to unbutton her blouse with almost numb fingers. Losing patience, she ripped the remaining buttons open by grasping either side of the fabric and pulling violently. Throwing the ruined garment aside, she fumbled with the button and zip at the back of her skirt. The irritatingly non-compliant zip received a similarly impatient treatment as the blouse.

Her shoes were toed off as she reached behind her back to unclasp her bra, but the bloody thing seemed to have sprouted a padlock.

“Let me help you with that,” Eddie offered in a highly amused tone of voice. Cool, assured fingers successfully unclasped the hooks and eyes.

“Thank you, Eddie,” Jean responded.

Helpful fingertips assisted in sweeping the bra straps down her arms which allowed the scrap of lace to fall to the floor. Jean sighed, as the light touch of exploring fingertips teasingly traced over her now exposed breasts.

Eventually the fingers centered attention on her nipples; rolling the buds, pinching, pulling. The strength with which she was being manipulated increased second by second, until her nipples were being pulled and twisted to a painful degree.

Jean was not bothering to hold back her moans, or the fact her hips rocked, seeking friction for her swollen sex. The sexual pain, being displayed, and even to some degree, the humiliation, had her almost at her wit’s end. ‘More, please!’ she screamed inside her own head.

“I want you naked, Jean. Please don't disappoint me!” Eddie instructed.

The fantastically harsh treatment of her nipples ceased as she pushed down her skirt, and she whimpering in regret. Graceful removal of her knickers presented a greater challenge as the soaked garment clung to her wet sex. Though after a little wriggling, they too fell to pool at her ankles.

“You are beautiful, Jean. Let’s have this over and done, then I can enjoy you.” Eddie’s voice sounded relaxed. She felt anything but.

There were sounds of movement, then hands grasped her waist and moved her to lie across a pair of partially spread thighs – Tom was most likely seated in her desk chair. Shifting to feel balanced, she grasped the left leg immediately below her chest. She did her best to breathe slowly, trying to relax and calm her nerves.

“Poppet, for misunderstanding me, you’ll receive five, for disrespecting our friend, you’ll receive another five, and for causing us undue worry over your safety you’ll receive five more. The word that will bring this to a halt is ‘metro’. If you accept this tell us now." 

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry!” The words were croaked out as Jean felt emotion overwhelm her. The soft blindfold around her eyes absorbed the tears that suddenly leaked form her eyes. She could feel muscles and limbs shift around her but was still unprepared for the first strike.

Air rushed from her lungs at contact. Refilling her lungs made rasping sounds. Sensation caught up with knowledge; pain blossomed over a shockingly large area of her backside. Her breathe was expelled in an open-mouthed cry.

Another blow fell. Jean wanted desperately to be able to do this, to take her punishment, yet everything was out of kilter; she was not being struck by the man meting out her punishment. She could not breathe, she was shaking, and she felt herself begin slide into panic. Trying to push down that caustic emotion only made her feel all the worse.

“Metro!”

The hand that had been so harsh started to stroke down her spine, petting her gently. She had not given the safe word. Tom had.

“Shhhhhushhhh……Shhhhh, shhhhhh, my love. We’re both here to take care of you. Breath slowly for a while…. That’s the way, kitten.” Tom’s voice was balm to her frayed nerves. He spoke slowly, softly, allowed her that moment to gather herself, come to better terms with her situation. She stayed in place.

“Poppet, you need this, will you allow us to give you what you need?” Eddie softly asked.

Jean took a couple more deep breathes, and felt her body and mind become loose and ready.

“Yes, please. I am yours.”

The next touch was gentle again, more of the light petting, which ended in a light tap to her upturned arse, signalling the resumption of her remaining smacks. Never falling in the same place twice, the strikes covered her bottom completely, even the backs of her thighs. Her skin sang with sensation.

Physically, Jean was a mess of sobs and tears soaking into her blindfold. Mentally, she was loosing focus, drifting to another place; somewhere she reveled in pain feeding pleasure.

An insistent voice was pushing at her, wanting to disturb her bliss.

“…back to us, kitten. I know you’re in there somewhere…. “

She did not feel like leaving the comfort of wherever she was, it was soothing and it was so tempting to simply ignore the close voices. She knew she was moving, being manhandled, though the how and why held no interest for her. 

Jean was settled on Tom’s lap, snuggled into his hold. He had removed her sleep mask and his thumbs stroked away any tears remaining under her eyes. 

Her arms and upper thighs were stroked until she began to make small noises of appreciation.

Fingers that had rested on her thigh slipped between her legs, teasing at the slick flesh of her sex. She moaned and spread wider to invite further contact.

“Poppet, do you need to come?” Eddie asked.

The most she was able to give was a nod and a small pleading noise.

She leaned back into the supportive arm behind her, and offered herself to those teasing fingers. She felt shaky, exhausted but also wet, engorged and needy. 

Those marvellous fingers slid through her… She wanted so much more….

The firm slap applied directly to her clit had Jean crying out, cursing and begging. Another slap swiftly sent her rushing into an abyss of white noise and the nonsense of orgasm. 

Two long fingers entered her, fucking her through her orgasm. She pushed and pulsed against them, greedy for every and any stimulation to prolong her pleasure.

When finally her pleasure was exhausted, and reality stole its way into her mind again, Jean lay sprawled over Tom’s lap, shaking and breathing hard.

“Th.. Thank… Thank you, Eddie,” she gasped.

Her right hand reached for Tom’s left and squeezed his fingers, hoping that might convey her thanks to him. She was so tired.

“You need to sleep my poppet. Go. We’ll talk again tomorrow. And I’ll be back on Wednesday. Good night.”

She could only nod in response. The familiar tones of a SKYPE disconnection rang out. Tom held her close for a few seconds, then kissed the top of her head.

“Bed. Now!” he declared.

She nodded into the crook of his shoulder, and her breathing hitched as he picked her up like a child in his arms, and headed to his bedroom.

“’S not my room,” she murmured. Her eyes were too heavy, they refused to stay open.

“You’re with me tonight, kitten. There’s no way I’d leave you alone and uncared for in this condition!”

She felt herself being laid upon a soft surface. Tom’s bed? She was far too tired to open her eyes for verification.

“I’m going to fetch arnica cream, and a wash cloth for your face,” she was told in soft tones. What was going to happen with the arnica and wash cloth she never found out, as by the time Tom returned, she had surrendered to the arms of Morpheus.


	4. Chapter 4

After using a warm, damp washcloth to wipe Jean’s face free of drying tear streaks, Tom gently turned her on to her stomach – a much more sensible position for restful sleep considering the bruises that were already starting to bloom on her backside. 

Tom gently spread her legs to wipe clean her sticky inner thighs, and dabbed carefully at the excess moisture coating her sex. Her sleepy moans and the slight movement of her hips made him smile. Gods! The spanking had left her dripping wet. His right trouser leg above the knee was sticking to his skin, still wet with her juices.

Tom enjoyed such moments of aftercare. The responsibility, the care giving, it called to an aspect of his nature he thought of as his romantic element.

With light touches, the elegant fingers of one hand smoothed arnica cream over Jean’s arse and thighs, the other hand adjusted his painfully hard cock through his trousers. The sound of his mobile ringing had him covering Jean with just the brushed cotton sheet of his bedding – it was far too humid for any heavier bedding – and nipping quickly and quietly into the living area to locate his phone. It was Eddie.

“Tom! How’s our girl doing? She looked utterly exhausted.”

“She’s sleeping. In my bed.” Tom could not help the smile on his face spilling into his voice.

“Yeah, okay. You took good care of our girl?”

“Ahh, man! Do you even have to ask?”

“Well, I have one other question; are you still hard? Because watching her was too much; I didn’t want to miss a moment. And now my balls are aching like all hell!”

“I am pitching a tent to house half of Glastonbury. Does that answer your question?” Tom laughed, knowing where this was going.

“Want to make it a mutual pleasure? Put her between us and take a hold?”

Tom unbuttoned himself, adjusted, and wrapped his long fingers around his generous girth, knowing his friend was doing the same. 

“You know that Alt-J song she’s fond of?” Tom asked.

“Yeah. Every Other Freckle…” 

“Then you know the line I’m thinking of… Ahh, yeah!”

“God, yes! … ‘Lick you inside out like a crisp packet!’” 

“Oh, man, yes!” Tom groaned. “Tomorrow morning I want my face buried deep in her cunt, licking her out until she screams my name…..” 

Neither man could say anything more sensible, until deep guttural moans and slurred exclamations of profanity had settled down again. 

“I need to go,” Tom uttered.

“Good night to you too, lover,” Eddie teased.

“Sod off. I don’t want to leave her unattended for too long.”

“OK, mate, I’ll be back in two days. Take care of our girl and, please, ensure she knows she is our girl!”

“In every way. G’night, mate.”

Tom made his way back to his room, sexually sated, and in need of a little comfort himself; he stripped then climbed into bed to curl around Jean’s back. He spooned around her body, and softly licked her right shoulder. She tasted sweet and salty.

The thought of letting a hand stray to press fingers between her legs, then raise them to his mouth to taste more of her scampered across his mind. As tempting as it was, he would not betray her trust for such a small token.

He and Jean would share the experience of his first taste of her sex. Though he so wanted to taste her. Tom was oral. Extremely oral. Sleep was a long time coming. 

 

He woke slowly the next morning and looked over at Jean’s relaxed face as she slept. ‘Please let her wake up smiling, or at least not spitting hell fire,’ he thought. Eddie, the git, was not going to be here for the repercussions, whatever they might be.

He dearly hoped the conversation he knew was on the horizon would not include phrases such as, ‘ruined friendship,’ or a sad face uttering the words, “I trusted you!”  
And he still had to impart the news that the relationship, if she entered into it, would not be with one man but two. So much could go very, very wrong in the coming hours.

Tom and Eddie were close, they both shared an insane lifestyle, and that strong sense of self-belief and confidence an English private education imparted. And both had suffered Jean’s taunts when their confidence came across as cocky or arrogant.

He would make this work. There was no other alternative. He had to act. Now.

Stroking the hair from her forehead, he whispered, “Good morning, kitten.”

Her eyes opened, darted around for a moment or two, after which she seemed to come to terms with where she was. Jean turned to face him.

“Good morning,” she said and smiled.

Pushing his luck, he responded, “You don’t seem too concerned to be waking up starkers in my bed.”

Jean could not help laughing. “Yesterday I trusted you with my safety, and you were a complete gentleman. Well, no, not a gentleman, but you know what I mean. I know anything I don’t want will not happen here.”

“That’s true.”

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“You do realise it is not just Eddie who wants a relationship with you.” There he had said it. He watched her face; wide-eyed disbelief, sly realisation, and, finally, a look of evaluation.

“You’re not joking, are you. Have either of you thought of the practicalities of such a relationship?”

Tom smiled. At least her first question had not been, ‘Are you out of your sodding minds?’

“Yes, We both know you loathe press intrusion, just as we do, so we’d be completely discrete. Eds and you, you and me, even all three of us have been photographed together in the past. Then the press described you as my flatmate, a friend, and even a mystery woman. That need not change.”

Tom could see her thinking over the possibilities. Then her face became resolute. “Coffee. Coffee and dressing gowns, now!”

Without self-consciousness they both departed to find the wanted clothing, then stalked to the kitchen to take comfort in their morning ritual.

“What are you up to today?” Jean asked. Knowing her stalling of ‘The Conversation’ was obvious.

Tom squirmed slightly, made a face then disclosed that he had to visit his family.

“Mum knows I’m back,” he explained. “And if I don’t show today, the emotional blackmail will reach epic proportions. Sorry.”

He really did not want to leave her today, but he had not seen hide nor hair of his family in over two months. He also felt a need for reconnection – though the timing made him feel a bit of a dick.

“Oh, hush! Go. You need to go. If not for them, for you!” Jean grinned. “Pass along my love. Anyway, I’ll be spending today in The Shed.”

Tom smiled politely. “Well, have a great day amongst all your torture devices.”

The Shed was Jean’s work studio. Tom actively disliked the place from his first and only visit. The tools she used to work the huge blocks of wood, some of which sat seasoning in the space, looked medieval and wicked in his opinion.

The Shed was actually a large partitioned space within an old industrial building. With property prices depressed, the owners had forsaken any prospect of selling for redevelopment, and rented out space to artists, musicians and anyone in need of an unheated, bare bit of space, for some income.

Jean’s studio sat alongside that of an up and coming DJ and his friends. She spent many days working to the music that was going to be played in clubs across London the following weekend.

Jean needed to be at The Shed that day. The company charged with packing and moving her sculptures from her studio to the gallery was due to arrive at midday.

 

In the hour to spare before the movers arrived, Jean spent her time running her hands over the sculptures, checking for any imperfection to surface or integrity. It was a manual job that allowed her mind to wander. She thought of the previous night; how absolutely intoxicating the experience had been. She loved Tom and Eds deeply, but that was in the terms of friendship. Ok, she found them both very attractive, in more than physical terms, but could she risk what they had for what might be? She had been an absolute coward this morning, backing out of an important conversation to force small talk. Tom had allowed her to do so. And she was thankful she was being given time to process and consider their offer…. Situation… Whatever.

Still with her eyes closed, hands running over the curves and undulations of one of her favourite pieces, she thought again about last night; being held in place, punished, and then cherished. The low moan that left her lips coincided with the door opening.

“Do you two want to be alone for a little longer?”

Her eyes flew open to see a tall man in his mid-thirties, probably of Asian decent, grinning at her swiftly reddening face.

“Hi, I’m Arun. I’ll be in charge of crating and moving your work. Sorry for the intrusion.” He was still grinning.

“Um, yes! Thank you, Arun. I’m probably…” Jean closed her eyes, gulped, opened again, and resumed. “Hi, Arun, good to meet you, I’m Jean Voigt. Tell me where your guys need to start, and I’ll be sat in a corner looking obsessively worried if you need anything else!” 

The packing was carried out with such efficiency and care that Jean soon lost her worried facial expression. Two hours later everything was safely stowed in their pantechnicon. Arun advised Jean that she would receive a text from Mo the curator’s assistant when all arrived safely. Relieved beyond belief that her work was in safe hands, Jean gave Arun a swift hug. 

“Thank you, thank you! You have no idea how nerve wracking this bit is for me! Your care to detail made this time a better experience.”

“Yes, I think I might have a hint of how much this means to you,” Arun smiled gently. “We’ve transported some really delicate installations and pieces before now. Don’t worry!” He smiled again, then fished out a card from his jeans back pocket, furiously scribbled with a pen, and then handed his card to Jean

“All my numbers are on there. If you’d like a coffee, meal, dance… Well, anything, give me a call!”

Jean stowed the card in the pocket of her shorts.

“Thank you.” She knew her response was not that enthusiastic.

“I don’t usually do this. I hope I’ve not upset you, Jean!” Arun hastily explained.

“No! It’s okay, I’m just unused to being approached in such a direct way!”   
‘Until quite recently,’ she added inside her head.

 

By five o’clock Jean was back in her kitchen, unloading the dishwasher when a text arrived from Mo. All her pieces had arrived at the gallery in pristine condition. She was sending a quick ‘Thank you!’, when the familiar tones of a SKYPE call came from her desk top.

Throwing herself into her desk chair, she accepted the call, and there, as expected, was Eddie. Grinning away.

“Hello, poppet! How are you?”

Jean rolled her eyes. “Glad to see you happier!”

The smile that split his face made her think of things that had her struggling with her facial expression. She wanted to keep the lust that smile inspired to herself for the time being.

“I received a text from Tom earlier. He’s spoken with you about our want to-“

“Yes!” Jean cut Eddie off, slightly embarrassed to think of how Eddie might phrase their troilism. “Eddie, it’s a lot to consider. And my work day did not allow much time for thought about us, but I promise tonight I shall think things over and, hopefully, tomorrow I’ll be able to give you some more thoughts on… Our… Relationship.”

“You sound daunted. You needn’t be. Tom and I talked, and we think we can make it so in our public and private lives we’ll not be disturbed.

All three of us are established in our careers – Tom and I know your career wouldn’t be too rocked now if you were connected with one or both of us in the press.”

“Eddie, that is a secondary consideration for me right now. I am so afraid that we could easily ruin our current friendship.” Jean was surprised by how small her voice sounded.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. We will work!” Eddie’s smile was resolute and solicitous. “We have the kind of friendship that allows you to speak with me tonight, even after I witnessed you being spanked at my request, and masturbated to an inspiring orgasm by our best friend last night. And now here we are, chatting. I’m convinced we will work.”

“We need to talk further, all three of us together,” Jean sighed.

“We do,” Eddie agreed. “And in the mean time, I know our friend would not be averse to the idea of you riding his cock until he can’t walk straight. Good night, Jean.”

The evil git had the temerity to wink before he disappeared and the disconnect tones sounded.

Jean stared open-mouthed at the blank screen for a moment. 

“Bastard.”

 

By the time Jean had showered, pulled on a long loose night dress, and sat down on one of the sofas to read, her anger had simmered down to a mild consternation. She attempted to focus on her book – Machotka’s study of Cézanne's landscapes – but the words refused to be drawn in from eye to brain. Something inside her was restless.

Quarter of an hour later she recognised she was too agitated to read. Jean went to what worked. No matter how many miles apart, she and Tom always texted when a trusted opinion was required.

‘Houston, we have a problem,’ she texted.

A few minutes later she received, ‘Role play? I like it! If you are Jim Swigert, who do I play?’

Before she had finished rolling her eyes, her phone rang.

“Hello, kitten. I’m on my way home. Am driving so shouldn’t text. Now, are you going to tell Auntie Tom your troubles?” 

“Eddie is an absolute arrrggh!”

Repeating her previous conversation with her free hand over her closed eyes, she slipped from embarrassment in to mortification. It took Tom a good long while to stop laughing.

“No! Please, no more! I’m driving – and you’re distracting me!”

“Thanks for the sympathy, you great ape!” 

“Okay… Go to my room. Get comfortable in my bed. In thirty minutes I’ll be home, in another five I’ll be showered and then I’ll be smiling up at your from between your legs.”

Jean made a noise that Tom took as acceptance.

“See you soon, kitten.”

Jean disconnected the line on her phone. She smiled for her own entertainment, and proceeded to strip naked. She now knew exactly what she needed. Her nightgown and knickers were left to decorate the floor in a trail before Tom’s bedroom door.

Within the suggested timeframe, Jean heard the shower flowing in her bathroom. Shortly after, the bedroom door was flung open, and her jaw dropped at the sight of a slightly damp, very naked, golden creature stood in the door way with his hands on his hips. 

With an imperious glare, the naked creature started the short walk to the bed, as he demanded, “Earthling, surrender your planet, and your body!”

Jean fought against the giggles, and knelt on the mattress with her hands raised in capitulation.

“Oh, my! Will there be tentacles involved?”

The invader did something lewd with his eyebrows as he approached the bed.

“And probing?” Jean lost her battle against the giggles.

The bed dipped as the naked invader climbed on to kneel over Jean. Reaching for her waist, he lowered his head to whisper in her ear, “Oh, yeah, plenty of mutual probing.”

Her laughter was cut short by the completely indecent sensation of his tongue probing her ear.

Hands coming together at the back of his neck, she took hold of his hair, and pulled his mouth to hers. Their kiss was anything but gentle; teeth clashed, delicate skin was bruised and their tongues fought for the right to own each other’s mouths. Falling sideways, they writhed against each other, the skin to skin contact becoming intoxicating.

Jean raised her upper leg to wrap it around Tom’s hip. The engorged and heated feeling of want between her legs sought to rut against his swelling cock. As she ground at him, she groaned, “I vote for hard and fast… Please!”

Moaning, Tom took Jean’s hands from his head. Settling them on her chest, he sighed. “Much as I want us to do so many unspeakable things tonight, we are going to be slow and gentle – in a way,” he winked.

Jean huffed, and arched against him in disbelief.

“Ah, ah, ah… No! Tomorrow you, Eddie and I will be together again.” The wicked grin returned. “Attacking each other like two mink in a sack tonight won’t leave you in the best place to handle what we want to do with you.”

Tom’s hand slid down to push between her thighs, cupping her mons. She pressed and rubbed into his hold, simply enjoying the pressure for a few moments, until his words finally made it to the ’WTF!’ centre of her brain.

“Wait! You’ve both planned tomorrow night? That’s… Don’t I get a say? You two are Nnnghhh!”

Tom thrust a single finger into Jean’s wet, waiting cunt. Her response was exactly what he wanted. But just to be sure, he kissed her mouth in a way that definitely implied STFU!

Impaled and sucking her best friend’s tongue, Jean felt her impatience and indignation slipping away.

The finger within her was only partially so, pressed against the front of her vaginal wall, and circling relentlessly. The sensations were amazing. She wanted to come but it was as if something was growing inside her, and she could not come until it was fully developed. Her hips jolted and pushed, wanting the ‘something’ to be fulfilled. Now!

She kissed his mouth sloppily, tonguing at his teeth and lips, as her whole attention centred on the exquisite sensations only a single finger created.

“Yes…. Oh, Gods. Please… Please fuck me!” she begged.

“Are you ready to come for me, Jean?” he whispered in her ear.

“Yes! Need you inside me. Now!”

Tom moved quickly, slipping between her spread thighs, his fingers moved to her clit, his mouth to her succulent cunt he so wanted to devour.

He ate her like an over-ripe peach; devouring, slurping, and driving his tongue as deep as he could reach inside her body. He gave her clit a couple of firm pinches, and her hips left the bed – forcing him even deeper into her receptive body.

Her orgasm released wave after wave of slick juices. And he drank. He continued to reap through her spasming sex even when her cries of pleasure turned to shouts for him to stop. To her, the sensitivity had become almost painful. A hand pressed on her stomach, holding her in place.

He changed position, gently running the flat of his tongue over her clit. Her hands wrenched at his hair, attempting to shift his from her over-stimulated clit. Grinning and never ceasing, he remained in place.

As her howls diminished, he picked up a faster pace; sucking on her clit, then bothering the swollen gland with the pointed tip of his tongue.

“Oh… Tom! Don’t stop...…TOM!” and with the shout of his name Jean was coming again. He flicked harder over her clit – needing his hold on her stomach to force her bucking hips to remain on the mattress – then pushed two fingers inside her swollen cunt. Her whole frame seized in tension. She was immobile for a second or two; held in place by her perception of pleasure. Then she quaked violently. With every knowing and evil lap of his tongue on her over-sensitive flesh, she convulsed and cried his name.

Jean quickly recovered her senses. Use of her limbs followed shortly afterwards.  
Still rather shaky, she delivered a smack to Tom’s shoulder.

He laughed and pulled her to rest on his stomach as he lay on his back.

“What do you want now, you demanding little bint?” he sighed with an extremely self-satisfied smile.

“Want?” Her hand slid over his stomach, her fingertips ghosting over his weeping cock. “Ooh, I am going to suck, tongue fuck and lick you until you come screaming like a girl!”

An hour later, though Tom thought it nearer three weeks – three weeks filled with being teased to the point of orgasm again and again, only to be denied – his begging took on a whiney tone. And when eventually given release, he did scream.

As the power of speech returned, he panted, “That was a manly scream. Ve…very manly!” 

Jean snuggled into his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up, you big girl!”


	5. Chapter 5

Their morning ritual was becoming a wonderful, luxurious thing. Set back into motion by Tom’s return from filming, and pushed into the realms of taking care of one another by the start of their physical relationship. 

Crusty toast and deliciously bitter orange marmalade, washed down with fresh coffee and mineral water replenished and refreshed tired minds and bodies.

“Do you think Eddie might want to move in with us?” Jean blurted, breaking their comfortable silence with a question that had just occurred to her.

“One more valid question for the list we’ll share when we’re all back together again,” replied Tom between mouthfuls of sticky toast.

“There is one question I need to ask while we’re alone, and I’ll ask the same of Eddie in privacy, too: what is your family going to make of our relationship? Your family is important to you, as are you to them.”

Tom’s first thought was, ‘She’s willing to be not just his, but ours!’ Then he considered her question. “My family loves you, they love Eddie. After some initial worries, a few all too personal questions, and a little thought, I know they’ll be more than accepting.”

He knew he was being truthful. Every family had its quirks, and his was not without a few. What was one more?

“What about your family, Jean?”

She shrugged. “The two uncles in Norway I haven’t seen since I was eleven, or the sister who married a boring banker so she no longer had to share a family name with me? And whose family already think of me as a freak show? Those snobs can go whistle.

“If your Mum invites me back for Christmas dinner this year, I know I’m fine with the family thing!”

Tom looked pensive for a moment, biting at the inside of his cheek.

“Not sure if it’s my place to say this, but I already know Eddie’s answer. He and his family aren’t close. I doubt he gives a monkey’s. Well, at least you have a heads-up on that possible answer.”

“Thanks. I’ll be sure to ask everything else first.”

Tom smiled his assent. Then asked, “What are you up to today?”

“Not much. An hour at the gallery sorting the placements, nothing else. Want to come with? We could grab a sandwich, eat lunch in one of the parks. It’s chilly today, so no one’s going to look twice at a guy in glasses and a hoodie.” She gave him a sly smile, “Let’s go undercover, Mr Pine!”

“How did you…? That’s…”

“Stop littering my desk with proposed scripts.”

 

The downturn in the weather did work to their advantage, as no one paid the least bit of attention to the scruffy looking couple disembarking from a taxi near the Serp gallery. 

Once inside, it was a different story.

Mo warmly welcomed Jean, and then gave a quick nervous look at the tall, shabby man sat in one of the chairs in the reception area behind her. Cottoning on, Jean smirked. 

“Sorry, Mo! That’s Tom, my flatmate. We’re off to lunch after this, so let’s make it quick…” 

Her words faltered as Mo – who until this point had always been the epitome of The Urban Man – raised a hand to his open mouth and a look crept into his eyes that Jean recognised as hard fangirling. Her shoulders slumped.

Every other hardened Londoner could not give tuppence if the ghost of Laurence Olivier sat next to them on the Tube – they were all too blasé to show reaction. But the guy she needed to pull off her exhibition was currently acting like a school girl.

Taking one of Mo’s perfectly manicured hands in one of her rough, work calloused ones, she said, “Come with me!”

As they walked, Jean hissed in Mo’s ear, “He’s just a bloke who answered my Standard ad for a flatmate. In actual fact, it was his Mum who answered the ad. Before I’d known what or who was moving in, his Mum had paid the deposit and a month in advance. True story.”

Jean knew Mo was sensitive to the etiquette of introductions, so decided to play.

“Mr Mohammed Al-Gherah, Mo, may I introduce my flatmate, Tom. Tom, this is Mo. He works here.”

Ignoring Jean’s rude introduction, Tom stood, smiled, and shook hands with the fangirl. He then slipped faultlessly into his charming and utterly lovely ‘meet the public’ persona.

Jean mouthed, “I am so sorry!” behind Mo’s back.

A few minutes later Mo was more like his old and professional self. Tom was sat in Mo’s office with a coffee and Radio 3, and things seemed to settle down. Mo was furiously taking notes on his tablet as Jean gave her wishes for final adjustments. 

They were about to wrap up the meeting, when a loud and familiar voice exclaimed, “En chellam!” 

Arms closed around her from behind for a swift bear hug. She recognised the scent of his aftershave and London traffic before she turned around.

“Arun! How are you?”

“Good, good! Would’ve been better if you’d called, but how can I compete with your sculptures?” He winked and smiled good naturedly.

“Sorry, Arun, you’re just too animate for me,” Jean laughed.

The chatter ended as Tom walked over from Mo’s office. He pulled at her hand. “You promised me lunch, darling,” he said before placing an arm around her middle, and wishing Mo and Arun a good afternoon. He pulled her out the gallery door before she could form the words to describe his rudeness.

Arun felt rather non-plussed, and turned to Mo, “Who the hell does he think he is?” 

Mo sighed, still staring at the door, “He’s the god of flatmates.”

 

The short walk to Jean’s favourite sandwich shop on Gloucester Road passed in silence. Tom ordered their food without consulting her. Jean crossed her arms. If he wanted a bit of time work out whatever was bothering him, so be it.

They walked to Kensington Garden’s Round Pond, and ate sat on one of the many benches facing the water. One of them still had a face like thunder.

Half way through her sandwich – emmental with green salad, not one her favourites – Jean lost patience. She threw the remains of her lunch on the ground at Tom’s feet. The ducks instantly reacted; pecking, loudly squabbling, and diving around his ankles for the food. 

“NaaaagGGGHH!” Tom drew his legs up, not caring for dignity in the face of a mass duck attack.

Jean crossed her legs on the bench and turned to Tom. “No more pouting. Tell me what’s wrong!”

Still staring at the squabbling ducks, he grumbled, “He called you ‘my dearest.’”

Blinking and shaking her head, Jean knew she was missing something. “Sorry? I’m confused! Tell me what’s going on here?”

Tom pulled a card from his pocket. Jean recognised it as Arun’s daft chat up attempt.

“You left your clothes on the bathroom floor last night. This was on the floor too.”

Jean took the card and offered it to one of the ravenous ducks, which did it’s best to tear away at the vellum.

“So that’s why you darlinged me. And…” 

Squeezing his shoulder, she asked, “Oh, sweetie, how many times were you propositioned by a stranger this year, or last?” 

Tom blushed, looking at the now duck free ground and stretching his legs to the floor again. Jean took his head in her hands, turning his face to hers. 

“And how many times have you taken up any of those stranger’s propositions?”

“Never!”

“Bingo! You are now an honorary female. And that, by the way, is high praise!” She smiled and released him.

Jean’s hand sought his; she stroked the smooth skin of his palm in small circles, and watched purple-hued rain clouds scud across the skyline. She tilted a little more to rest her head on his shoulder.

He gently squeezed her fingers. “Sorry!”

“Completely forgiven.” She raised his hand to her mouth, lightly brushing his knuckles against her lips, enjoying the feeling of his skin against hers. 

As they stood to leave, Tom slipped an arm around her waist again, this time with nothing more than closeness in mind. “Think we can make it home before the rain starts?” 

 

 

Jean took her time showering, then dressed in an old, worn thin white muslin shirt and a comfortable pair of Captain America boxer shorts. Feeling quite calm, even with Eddie due to visit that evening, she paused when she heard what sounded like a child’s tantrum.

“What the….?” Tom turned from his tablet to frown at her as she walked through the living area. 

“You received thirty-seven likes, three reblogs and some really saucy comments in the last three days of thfrustration posting our stories, and I received nada, zip and sodding zilch. Why?!”

Making reassuring noises at her pouting flatmate, Jean moved in to lean over the back of the sofa. “Let me take a look at the story you posted.” His big hands started to draw the tablet to his chest; she calmed her face to smile kindly. “Please, Tom. It can’t hurt.”

“Urrggh. Okay,” His shoulders slumped as he pushed the tablet into her waiting hands.

She read as she walked into the kitchen, opening the fridge to filch some of the food Tom had made earlier. Dish of spag-puttanesca in one hand, tablet in the other, she closed the fridge door with a knee, then repeatedly bumped her forehead against the door surface, whispering an agonised, “Oh, Tom!”

 

Cocking an ear, Tom knew she was reading his story. He felt it was well written, comical, a bit sexy, and everything he wanted to write at the time. 

Jean exited the kitchen, food in hand. She sat and ate. When finished she picked up his tablet, and raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t read my story, have you?”

“Yeah, well… No.” He felt a tinge of guilt for not having read her story yet.

“Here you go. Enjoy. Then we compare.” She handed back his tablet and took her dish back to the kitchen.

Tom reclined and read.

 

Spare the Rod  
by SculptJV

A small alarm sounded on Ms Vaughn’s phone, alerting her to the imminent arrival of her most troubled student. As form tutor for the Upper Sixth boys at the exclusive St Williams’ College, she had thought certain forms of behaviour – such as ‘acting out’ -would be minimal at best. But Thomas Oakley pushed against every norm.

She knew he resented being with them. He regarded them as nothing more than a punishment. Remembering the personal details she had reviewed a few months ago, after his first real rule-busting infraction, that involved alcohol, she had thought at the time, ‘Dear gosh, he’s nineteen, only four years younger than me!’ 

Tom had punished his father for remarrying not a year after divorcing his mother by spectacularly failing his ‘A’ Levels. His father had retaliated by enrolling Tom at St Williams’ and forcing his son to repeat two years of school. 

Tom should really have retaken his A2’s after a summer of private tuition then attended university alongside his peers, but Tom’s father, she had learned, was an incredibly inflexible man. 

In many ways her heart went out to the young man. His father was publically ridiculing him, and the behaviour he demonstrated was almost understandable given the circumstances. But she had to keep order. Some of the Upper and Lower Sixth boys were starting to see Mr Oakley as a figure to be emulated. And that had to be nipped in the bud.

She sighed, remembering the wonderful little pieces of ‘advice’, and creepy trips down memory lane she had received from some of the more ancient members of staff, on dealing with trouble makers. 

“In my day, one simply had to beat the devil out of such a boy. It worked wonders!”

“When a cane was hung on the wall of every classroom, they paid proper attention.”

“I remember young Proops over there improved after a sound thrashing.” The librarian, Mrs Brank-Forcewell, gestured to Mr Proops, the games master. “He soon became a timid and quiet boy, but a constant bed wetter.” 

That last tidbit highlighted for Vaughn what cold and uncaring corporal punishment did to young boys. And if Mr Proops’ attitude to his classes – and everyone in general – was anything to go by, such discipline bred completely sadistic brutes. 

That was why she ensured her office held tea making facilities; she had a different approach. 

By the time the kettle was boiling, she had set out cups and a small plate of shortbread biscuits on a table before the hearth.

There was a knock at her door. “Come,” she replied.

When the door opened she smiled at the blond young man sulking in the entrance to her office. 

“Good afternoon, Mr Oakley. Take a seat I’ll be with you in a moment.” She indicated the chairs by the hearth, not the desk, which had the man looking slightly unsure.

She heaped assam into the teapot, added water just off the boil, and then settled in the wingback chair facing her student. “That needs to steep, so in the mean time why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

“Nothing much,” came the indolent reply.

“Tom, I know you find life here to be difficult, and we’ve spoken about this before, but now your behaviour is starting to…” 

Vaughn was cut short by Tom’s loud offer of, “Shall I be Mother?”

He took up the teapot and strainer, and instead of leaning over the table to pour, took two steps to tower over Vaughn, smiling and gesturing for her to raise her empty cup. She returned his smile, raised her cup, and immediately found Tom in her personal space. He leaned in close, breathing in the steam from the pouring tea, sighing loudly.

“Lemon?” he asked.

“Thank you, yes.” 

He laid the pot on the table, and turned to spoon a segment of lemon onto the saucer by her cup, all the while leaning over her. After he sat back down, he gave her the world’s most interested and innocent smile. Vaughn blinked then found her track again.

“Mr Oakley, your disrespect of authority has to stop.”

The damnable young man’s smile broadened. “Make me.”

“I am trying to make your time here easier on you, Tom. We both know you do not want to be here, and know we are at an impasse. Do you have any suggestions on how we might go forward? I am here to listen and help in any way I can.”

With his usual smirk of disdain, Oakley muttered, “Want to spank me, Miss?”

“Don’t be an arse, Tom. I am not one of the decrepits around here who long for the days of corporal punishment.” 

“Really? Then why do you have a twelve inch wooden ruler on your desk?” He rose, stepped to her desk and snatched up the rule, slapping it against his open hand a couple of times.

“Mr Oakley, release my stationary item this instant. And sit back down.”

“And if I don’t?” Oakley grinned wickedly, perching on the edge of her desk. She knew he wanted to push her too far, hoping to be expelled.

Not today!

Vaughn crossed the room to her desk, and switched off the CCTV camera that normally invaded her privacy, and kept her safe whilst interviewing difficult students and/or parents. She turned. 

“Stand, Mr Oakley.” He did so, the long rule still in his hands. She assessed his height. He had a good eighteen centimetres on her.

‘Hmm… The desk chair it is,’ she thought. Settling herself, she raised the hem of her skirt to mid-thigh, and said in calm tones, “Mr Oakley, please attend.” She motioned to the space before her.

“Hand me my rule, if you please.” He did so with an uneasy smile. She took it, then said, “Mr Oakley your actions are starting to influence others. I cannot allow that to continue. It needs to be made clear to you that St Williams’ will not tolerate your bad behaviour. And neither will I. 

“Unbutton yourself. Trousers to your ankles then place yourself face down over my lap.”

Oakley’s face flushed pink, his mouth hung open for a moment. He licked his lips, then dove to comply, positioning himself, slipping his under-wear free, semi-erect cock between her slightly spread thighs. Given his height, he was easily able to place his hands on the floor, ensuring his stability. 

In spite, Vaughn closed her thighs around his pendulous cock. She could hear him laughing softly. “You are about to be punished, Mr Oakley, don’t sound so pleased.”

The first couple of strikes of the rule on his taut white behind had him gasping and bucking. By number six he had orgasmed. She felt the length of him pulsing, his semen spilling on the rug beneath them. In retaliation, she clenched her thighs harder, receiving several breathless, wincing gasps for her effort. 

By the twelfth strike, he was making noises that had nothing to do with pleasure. By the fifteenth he was no longer attempting to hold back his tears. Throwing the rule to the desk, she pulled the man-child into her arms. 

“Hush, hush… You’ve been in need of release for too long. It’s okay, just let go.”

He held her, his breath catching lightly as she stroked his back and whispered soft nothings for a long while.

Knowing that after a certain amount of time, their interview needed to be ended, she squeezed Tom’s shoulder.

“I need to be elsewhere. And so do you, shortly, but first drink some tea.” 

She walked to the door.

“Ms Vaughn?”

“Yes, Mr Oakley?”

“If… When the next time my feelings or actions are disrespectful… May I come to you to talk about my behaviour again?”

 

 

Jean lay back on the sofa, watching a goldfish-mouthed Tom.

“Naughty Shakespearean prose, huh?”

“Spanking Oakley into submission, huh?”

Eye contact sparked the giggles, and they could not contain the laughter that spilled wild and free.

“If Oakley was a naughty boy, I know you are a very naughty girl, and that there is a twelve inch wooden ruler in your desk drawer!”

With wide eyes they looked at each other then Jean’s desk, and both bolted in the same direction. Tom’s longer stride ensured he reached the drawer first, and brandishing her wooden ruler, cried out, “This is going to be my payback!”

“Are you kidding? I can only just sit comfortably today!”

She reached for the rule, he kept raising his arm, then teasing her with it just in reach. Jean resorted to tickling, the just as her hand closed on the prize, they heard the front door opening.

Frozen in place, they both turned to see an amused Eddie surveying the scene.

“Why, poppet, are you wearing Chris Evans on your arse?”

**Author's Note:**

> It usually takes me three to five days to write a chapter, and another six to eight days to edit the same. Sorry, but that's the timetable we're dealing with.


End file.
